


Not a Hero

by thelastcenturionismylove



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Crack, F/M, Fight Scene, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:08:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastcenturionismylove/pseuds/thelastcenturionismylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy being Clint. Then again, being a gay superhero without being super is never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Hero

"Another one, please," Clint says as he slides an empty cup and ten dollars across the blacktop. He smiles numbly when he gets his Old-Fashioned cocktail from the lady behind the counter and begins to drink. He stops midway to turn over and examine the girl who has just taken a seat.  
"I'll take a Mai Tai. Thank you," she tells her server. Barton goes back to his alcohol. The girl adjacent to him takes off her jacket and reaches for her purse. "It sure is cold out tonight." There's a pause and then, "Hey." A light tap on the shoulder directs Clint's attention straight at the girl again.  
"Hey," he responds. He notices that this woman is wearing an Avengers T-shirt. It's black and in giant white letters it reads "Avengers Assemble".  
"Oh, where are my manners? I'm Marie. What about you? Got a name?" she asks.  
"Barney." He puts out his hand for a handshake, and she accepts. "Nice shirt there, Marie."  
She pulls it down as to make it less wrinkled. "I know. I got it on sale at the Kohl's on Robert." She grabs the Mai Tai from the bartender and takes a sip. She exhales in satisfaction.  
"So, are you fan of them then?"  
"Of course! They're, like, superheroes or something, Barney. Why wouldn't I love them?"  
"I don't know. Just maybe they're a lot less "super" than everyone thinks they are, Marie," Barton finishes his drink and stands up. He politely leaves a tip on the table, puts on his jacket and walks out, hearing the word "weirdo" echo through the bar as the door closes behind him.  
Barton steps forward and embraces the cold air wrapping around him. He's going down an empty sidewalk lit dimly by streetlights and neon signs, heading for the hotel he's been staying in for the past week. Everything is quiet except for the sounds of his footsteps and jagged breathing until Clint turns a corner.  
"Help!" The sound is high, belonging to a female most likely, and it's coming from an alleyway near Barton. "Please, someone!" Hawkeye just looks down at his feet and walks past.  
"Shut up, bitch. There ain't anyone here to help you," a hoarse voice chuckles from behind. "Isn't that right, Dave?"  
"Right, Boss. Superheroes can't save the damsel in distress no more. They're too busy fighting the aliens!" The henchman laughs and Clint freezes.  
"Where are your damned Avengers now?" says the older man. Ensuingly, a loud slap and a weak shriek crack the air, and Barton comes running into the alleyway.  
Dave is the first one to spot him. "Speak of the Devil. Here comes Merida."  
His boss turns around and eyes Clint. He smirks. "Whatcha going to do without your bow and arrow, Princess?" He nudges his accomplice and the two focus back their attention to the injured woman on the ground.  
"Leave her alone." Barton's finger rests on a trigger now. The criminals shift to see a gun pointing in their faces but neither of them let on a hint of fear.  
"Dumb mistake, Kid," says Boss-Man. He lurches forward and swipes the gun from Clint's hand. He tosses it behind him, but his eyes stay fixated on his challenger. Barton springs ahead. He throws five punches, all of which hit his enemy, but appear to have no effect. He pushes another fist forward and it is caught by the crook. He snickers and tightens his grip. With an extension and quick twist of his hand, he flings the smaller man backwards. Hawkeye catches himself before he falls, and stands up again, this time facing a punch from his opponent. Before it hits him, Clint blocks the attack with his forearm, and launches his knee into the foe's crotch. He retracts back his leg, and then uses his elbow to bash the man's face. The blow is so hard that his entire arm recoils. He grunts and puts his opposite hand on his elbow defensively. The adrenaline wears off, and Barton realizes how hard his panting has gotten and just how much pain he's really in.  
Dave runs up to his boss, who is now on the ground, cowering in agony. He glances down at him and afterwards, looks at Hawkeye with shaky eyes. "For God's sake, man, leave us alone. We promise not to bother you no more, I swear."  
"Forget it. Just get the hell out of here before I call the cops," he growls. Dave picks up the beaten up delinquent and carries him on the shoulder outside the alleyway.  
Clint picks up his pistol and tucks it into his coat. He goes to assess the condition of the girl. "Are you okay?"  
She's slumped in a corner when she answers, "Yeah. Fine." She lifts herself up, with the support of the back alley wall, and expresses her gratitude to her so-called hero.  
"I'm not a hero, Miss," he points out, "Don't go thinking I did this for you."  


It's two in the morning when he finally gets back to his hotel. He switches the lights on and sprawls on his linen bed. His whole body is sore and he sinks into the mattress like a rock. He hasn't been able to sleep for two nights now, but right then, he manages to catch some rest. It's only three hours worth, but it's an improvement.

The next time the sun sets, Barton is reminded why he stopped sleeping in the first place. He can only recall bits and pieces when he wakes up, but the nightmare vaguely haunts him as he catches his breath and wipes his sweaty palms into his blanket. He remembers the burning building first. He's running through smoke when he hears a baby crying from the other side. He tries to open the door, but the second he touches the knob, his hand is scorched. The burn sears his skin with an immense sharpness and Clint is immobilized instantaneously. "I can't help you". The words are trapped in his throat. "I can't help you." The infant's wails reach a crescendo, but nothing can be done. "I can't help you," he finally says. Each note of his voice carries with the weight of a desperate choke. Then there is silence. The flames flicker without noise, and all the walls are left to smolder. The fires grow into giants and engulf Clint's vision. He shuts his eyes. The next thing he can call to mind is Loki.  
"Come back, Hawkeye. It's obvious that they don't understand you. And were you not happier with me?" he coos.  
"Shut the fuck up."  
"On the contrary, I think that you are the one who ought to "shut the fuck up"."  
He laughs. "I'd like to see you make me."  
"You know better than anyone else that I could do that. And with the utmost ease," his tone is sinister and smooth. "But I won't. You need me, Eyas. You miss the power... You forget that I've been inside that pretty little head of yours."  
"I said shut up," Barton booms. He lunges at Loki and the scene goes black. That's the last of it. He rouses with a jerk and it takes him three whole minutes to calm back down. After that, Clint doesn't sleep straight for another ninety-six hours.

The following day, the hotel door is knocked upon. Hawkeye opens it up to see Steve, sporting a brown plaid shirt underneath the layers of jackets and scarves and mittens he is wearing on top.  
Once Rogers is inside, he closes the door and locks it up. He spins and glares at the super soldier. "What are you doing here?"  
"I need to talk to you about something."  
"You need to talk to me? How about I need to talk to you?" he begins. "I haven't seen you in months for crying out loud. Where have you been?"  
"Listen, Clint. I'm sorry. I've just been sorting some things out and-"  
"Sorting some things out? That's what you've been up to? Listen, Steve. I should be the one who is sorry. Sorry that I've been busting my ass saving civilians while you've been busy having your little breakdown. You're not the only person on Earth with problems, you know? Really; do you actually think that I'm cut out for any of this? Because I'm not. Just look at me. I'm a complete mess, I live in this shit hole and I can't even sleep half the time. I mean, at least people look up to you. You have powers for God's sake. I'm just a dude with a bow. How the fuck am I supposed to be super like y-" He cuts himself off before he breaks. He gravely sighs, partially for his own sanity and partially for swearing in front of America's poster child. Steve simply looks at him with affliction. Barton brushes it off the best he can and sits on the corner of his bed and mutters, "What is it that you came to talk about?"  
"It's Romanoff. I'm sorry, but-" He can't seem to finish the sentence. It doesn't take long for Clint to realize what has happened.  
"No." The tear drops that fell then still stain Barton's black combat boots. He tries his damnedest to deny his loss because he doesn't want to accept the truth as is. "She can't be dead."  
"Last week. She was in Afghanistan and a roadside bomb blew up. There were no survivors and-"  
"Please. Stop. She's not.. She wouldn't do this. Not to me. Not now."  
"She couldn't have known," he reassures. "So don't blame yourself. None of it is your fault."

He never liked to wear suits; they were too formal for his liking, but he wore one to her funeral in her honor.

"Another one, please." He's at the bar again, drinking Old-Fashioned cocktails. They taste bitter in his mouth for some reason but he doesn't stop. He keeps drinking cup after cup until he blacks out. Rogers is the one that brings him back to the hotel. He's been watching out for Barton ever since he's returned from the ceremony just in case he would do anything stupid, like absorbing copious amounts of alcohol.  
The morning is spent next to the toilet. "You alright in there?" Steve says from behind the closed door.  
"I'm fantastic. Thanks for asking," Clint groans before he hurls for the third time in a row.  
"Do you need some water or something?"  
"Water'd be nice," he mumbles. He hears faint footsteps go to the mini-fridge.  
"Aquafina or Dasani?"  
"Does it matter?"  
"I'll get one of each," he decides. He comes in and hands both the bottles over. Barton opens the Dasani first. "I like the Aquafina one better."  
He raises one eyebrow, "They taste identical to me." Steve awkwardly shrugs and Clint drinks his water. "Hey, uh.. I never really apologize for, you know, snapping at you before, so.. I'm sorry."  
"It's okay. You've gone through a lot lately. I understand."  
He wonders how Steve does it. How he stays so in tact and worthy and reliable through it all. So he asks.  
"I take it slowly. One challenge at a time, you know?" He pauses to think. "And though it may be hard to do in the beginning, you eventually have to realize that you can't save everyone. No one, not even me, is powerful enough to do that. And you also have to know that you certainly can't save anyone in the first place if you haven't given the slightest chance to save yourself."  
"Thanks." Steve's a good man; he makes Barton want to be a better person. Hawkeye smiles genuinely and a few minutes later, Rogers leaves the hotel. He instructs Clint to call if he needs anything. After that, the throwing up subsides and Barton's left to deal with the mild headache.

It takes about a month, but when he finally does call, it's only because he needs the company. "Today's my last day in the hotel. I thought we could have a Buffy marathon-slash-sleepover to celebrate; what do you think?"  
"Sure. I'll grab a bite for us to eat and invite Tony over if that's alright with you."  
"Sounds like a plan."

They're eating Brooklyn-styled pizza; Steve and Clint are sharing the bed and Tony is sitting by himself on the carpet, nestled up as close to the crappy television screen as he can be without blocking the view. It's around halfway into an episode when Stark says, "Ah. I finally remember now why I wanted to bang Buffy so much when I was younger."  
"T.M.I., man."  
Steve tilts his head, "What does that one stand for?" He’s been spending his free time learning text acronyms, but he’s never heard of that one.  
"Too much information. It means that Tony has his mind in a dirty place right now, and that none of us want to hear about it."  
"Whatever. Hand me another slice?"  
It's later in the night when Tony's cell phone rings. "Hey, Pep. I need you to rent me a copy of the entire first season of Buffy tonight."  
"Why? So you can add it to your porn collection?" Barton snickers. Tony flips him off as payback.  
He puts up a finger to his left ear. "Right now? As in, right now, right now?.. Okay, fair point. Be home soon.. Yeah, love you." He ends the call and Clint makes a wuh-psssh noise.  
Stark stands up and brushes the pizza crumbs from his shirt. "What can I say? I'm a kinky bastard."  
"Wait, you're not leaving, are you?" He finishes, "I thought you were going to stay with me."  
"Sorry, Cap, you're on your own." He leaves the hotel without another word.  
"And then there were two," Hawkeye says.  
"Yeah. Three's a crowd anyways," he squeaks.

The episode ends and Barton yawns. "I think that's enough of the Scooby Gang for one night, don't you think?"  
"Mmhmm," he agrees. It's getting late now.  
"Alright, time for bed." He shuts the T.V. off, swats the empty pizza box on the floor and gets under his covers.  
"Where do I sleep?"  
"Here. I have the right side, you have the left." Steve complies.

It takes until six o'clock for things to start to get interesting. Barton is the first to wake, and to strange noises for that matter.  
"Please.. I'll be so good for you."  
"Steve?" He is answered by filthy moans and high-pitched breaths. _Someone must be having a great dream_ , he thinks. He's about to wake the other one up and give him Hell for what he is doing, but he hears something that knocks the courage out of him.  
"Clint," he mumbles. "Oh God."  
He freezes. _Wait, what?_ Rogers shivers, and Barton prays to God that he hasn't woken up. When the other man starts making faint "ah" sounds, Clint realizes that he is in the clear. He slips out of bed and takes a nice shower.  
He comes back to a wide awake Steve. "How did you sleep?"  
"Uh, fine,” he blurts. _So, he remembers._  
He grins. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"  
His eyes widen, "No, I didn't. What did I say?"  
"Well, to paraphrase, 'Ah, Clint. Just like that. Mm, yeah, _Clint_..'." Barton doesn't care that he is a smug dick sometimes.  
The blush on his face is undeniable. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to-" He shuts up when he's pinned down and being looked at hungrily. He whimpers and they share their first kiss not long afterwards.


End file.
